An Object Lesson
by JeanTre16
Summary: Takes place between season 1 and 2. The Sheriff of Nottingham imposes a Hood Tax as an object lesson for Robin and his supporters. Guy of Gisborne decides what to do about Marian.
1. Chapter 1

**An Object Lesson**

By JeanTre16

Chapter One

Collecting is So Hard to Do

Sheriff Vaizey of Nottingham strode into the assembly hall with a skip in his step. Seated at the table was his Master of Arms, Guy of Gisborne, in an usually dour mood. The contrast was stark. "Ah, Gisborne, you're here early this morning," the sheriff brightly announced. He went directly to the table and jubilantly studied the spread of food. Still standing, he took several choice pieces from the arrangement and gingerly placed them on his platter. With a side glance, he noticed his breakfast companion's empty plate, and his disposition shifted momentarily to intrigue. "Not eating?"

"Not hungry," Guy echoed darkly.

The sheriff smirked and returned his attention to selecting a palatable meal. "I don't like seeing my Master of Arms so glum. What's the matter, you didn't sleep well last night, eh?" Then, he tossed his finger upward and dropped his jaw as if he suddenly remembered something, and mocked, "Oh, I take that back. Perhaps you slept _too_ well. That's right, you lost your woman." He leaned back over the platter of fruit, letting his fingers dance over it indecisively before making a last selection. Smiling smugly, he jabbed, "Couldn't convince her to stay for the wedding, was it? Tsk, tsk, tsk."

"I slighted her, betrayed her trust," Guy corrected, shifting about uncomfortably.

"Slighted! Trust! You babble like a woman, Gisborne." The ribbing man sat heavily in his chair and smiled. "A man takes what he wants; he doesn't sit around talking about it." With his words he plucked a plum off his plate. "If you want the pretty little thing, then take her. If you don't, then by all means let's make an example of her." Again his words were accompanied by a demonstration. Lifting a knife from the table, he showily sliced a wedge off the fruit and consumed it.

"Example?" Guy asked.

"Come now, Gisborne," the sheriff spoke sloppily between chewing, "she's had her chance to play nice." He paused to swallow, and then put his fingers to his mouth to smack the juice off them. "What would we be teaching the people if we allowed her to make a public humiliation of you, only to be welcomed with loving arms by all Nottingham? Hmm?"

"She will not make a public spectacle of me again," Guy hissed between his teeth.

Vaizey abruptly leaned forward, all pleasantness gone from his countenance, and slammed the knife and fruit down on the table. Fruit flesh splattered everywhere. "See that she does not," he graveled forcefully.

Gisborne did not reply, but wiped a slosh of blood-red plum off his face. It was a livid picture of the consequences the sheriff's wrath would warrant, and he did not miss its message.

"My Lord," a guard spoke from the doorway, interrupting their exchange, "the tax collector is here to see you."

The sheriff released the mess in his hands and stood, his hard gaze still fixed on the man across the table. "Show him in," he said, lifting his chin and facing the door. With a pious mask of pleasantry he wiped his hands in his clothes and waited.

A short, balding man entered the room and bowed. "My Lord, I have the results from the last tax collection," he announced. With that, he motioned for two men to carry in a large chest and place it before the sheriff.

Vaizey smiled and waved for the men to open the chest. "And, and, out with it," he prodded impatiently. "What are the results?" Without hearing the response, the opened chest spoke for itself – it remained half empty. A displeased frown replaced the sheriff's smile.

"And … it's low," the tax collector fumbled with the difficult news.

"Low, lo, lo-o," Vaizey madly countered, turning his taunt from the intimidated tax collector's face to Guy's. "Do you see what I mean Gisborne? Did I slight the people? Did I betray their trust, making them withhold what I wanted?" He walked about the table, finger-tips tapping together contemplatively. Pivoting back to the collector, he asked, "And tell me, why is it loooow?" he maniacally drew the word out.

Fearful of the unstable behavior, the tax man nervously stumbled for an explanation. "Your Excellency, we barely collected enough, but … but – "

"It's Robin," Guy muttered disdainfully.

"Arrah! Of course, it's Hood," the sheriff yelled, raising his hands and spinning around. Looking for something to vent his anger on, he slammed the coffer lid shut with a loud _thud_. All in the room flinched at the outburst and the uncertainty of what might follow it. "Go!" he raved. "Put this in the treasury and collect another tax, an additional tax. Call it the 'Hood Tax.' If Robin _Hood_ wants to take my money, we'll have to ask the people to raise more to cover his portion." Seeing the trembling man still standing there, he yelled, "Go, you nincompoop! What are you waiting for?"

The tax collector half welcomed the orders, relieving him from the room. He bowed hastily and directed his men to gather the box and follow him out.

With their exit, the Sheriff of Nottingham and his Master of Arms were once again alone. "Robin?!" the sheriff fumed, deflating once again into his chair. "He breaks both of our hearts – mine for my money and yours for your female." In an off-handed, casual way he proceeded, "Well, at least one of us got our honeymoon. And I admit it was fun while it lasted. But now he's beginning to wear on me like an old nag."

Vaizey grinned and picked up his knife and fruit ensemble and continued peeling. "I think it's time we dealt with our little friend in the _woods_ – Hood," he made the play on words. Pleased with himself, he stopped his paring. Stabbing the blade into the table top he maliciously stated, "It's time to collect. I bag the Hood; you bag the woman."

"How?" Guy did not look so convinced.

"It's quite simple, Gisborne, like those peasants. Simple minded people need a simple minded plan. The people hate the tax. I dutifully remind them it's for the King's war in the Holy Land. They hate the tax; they hate the war; they hate their king. Of course, they'd never say it or I'd have to execute them. But now – " he paused to wag a finger " – I offer them salvation on a silver platter." With those words he half-mindedly picked up his platter of half-mutilated fruit and extended it to his Master of Arms.

A cold nausea swept over Guy's face as he held up a gloved hand, declining the offer. "And what would that be?" Gisborne encouraged the sheriff to get to his point, his hardened gaze looking up from the corner of his eyes.

"Me!" Vaizey exclaimed. Extending his arms outward, he basked in his brilliance.


	2. Chapter 2

**An Object Lesson**

By JeanTre16

Chapter Two

**Profits of Doom**

Alan A. Dale walked shrouded among the townspeople of Nottingham. While he waited for his fellow outlaw, Djaq, to acquire medical supplies, his eyes roved from under his hood for an unwatched coin pouch or an unprotected morsel of food. Being one of Robin's men, he was sanctioned to steal from the wealthy merchants who extorted from the less fortunate. It was justified. At least that was Alan's reasoning as he sought his target.

The hopeful thief's eyes lit on a stocky seller of copperwares involved in a conversation with two guardsmen. "Another tax?" the man asked the helmeted guards. "But you already collected from me yesterday."

"The sheriff's orders: Pay the 'Hood Tax' or your business will be confiscated." The unsympathetic collector held out his palm for payment.

Grumbling, the vendor reached to his side and untied a money bag from his belt. He fished out a few coins from within and handed them to the guard. "Taxes," he fumed, "the sheriff is robbing us blind."

The guardsman chuckled, biting down on the coins to test their authenticity. "This isn't for the sheriff. It's for Robin Hood and his merry men," he mocked. With their object in hand, the solicitors moved on to the next cart.

Alan watched the whole exchange, curious. "Hood tax, humph," he muttered, keeping his eye on the merchant as he put away his money bag. "Since when did the sheriff agree to collect a tax for us? I'll have to ask Robin about that one."

But his query was soon forgotten as he continued to watch the vendor. The stocky man was in a raw mood and took it out on two boys caught drumming on his wares. This was the advantage Alan A. Dale sought. Pulling his hood lower, he casually strolled around the backside of the cart. While the merchant scowled at the youth, Alan brushed the preoccupied man lightly from behind, deftly relieving him of his pouch.

Profit in hand, the thief slid the bag under his tunic and walked off. Reaching an alley, he turned the corner and hid in a vacant entryway. He raised the bounty to eye level and smiled. "That should do nicely," he congratulated himself. His glow vanished at seeing a sandy-haired boy of four or five standing before him, peering up at him with large hazel eyes.

Alan lowered the pouch beneath his clothing and looked away. He took up whistling in an effort to ignore the lad. But when the waif did not leave, the subject of interest became irritated and looked down at him. "What?" he snarled.

"Did you take that man's bag?" the boy asked innocently.

Alan scoffed. "Uh, no, you half-pint, what makes you think that?"

"'Cause I saw you take it."

"Well, I didn't. So there," Alan lied.

But the child did not leave; he continued studying him, which only made Alan more uncomfortable. "What are you looking at?" he snapped.

"Your nose," he gave his honest answer, bobbing up and down on the balls of his small feet.

"My nose?" Alan jerked his head back, surprised. "What's wrong with my nose?" he asked, frowning.

"I wanted to see if it grew like Mum says would happen when someone lies," the little boy confessed.

Alan's brows went up. "The nerve … off with you, little runt, if you know what's good for you," he threatened, waving his hands to shoo the boy away.

The child ran, leaving Alan to himself. Raising the pouch again, he viewed it thoughtfully and lifted his other hand to touch his rather large nose. He cringed, and then after a moment he shook the thought off. "Nah!" he rasped. But before he could gather his wits about him, the abrupt intrusion of a woman's voice from behind him nearly sent the money bag in his palm sprawling.

"Alan," Djaq called.

"Don't do that!" he scolded, twirling to face her. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

A corner of her mouth rose playfully, as her eyes flitted to the bag in his hand. "Guilty conscience?" she teased, but did not wait for an answer. "Come on. I have what I need." She patted a pouch clutched at her side. And the two left Nottingham Town for the woods, objectives accomplished.

ooOOoo

Back in Sherwood Forest, Robin Hood and his men gathered about their mid-day campfire to report their morning deeds. Robin sat quietly with a twig in his hand, contemplatively sketching something in the dirt. Beside him was Much on his right and Will on his left. Little John sat farthest from the warmth, propped up against the trunk of a tree. Djaq and Alan, freshly returned from Nottingham, were the last to arrive and took up places across the pit from their leader.

"Whoo!" Alan exclaimed, steam on his hike-winded breath. "A bit nippy, ain't it?" He fidgeted to find a comfortable spot on the cold ground and stretched his hands over the glowing embers.

Much pulled his neck-scarf up to his chin and shuddered. "I don't believe it's going to get any warmer, either," he added his pessimism.

Little John nodded his head in agreement and looked around the circle at the others with concern. "If we don't find better shelter than this for the winter, we're going to regret it."

Robin said nothing, but looked up at his men and took to heart their conversation.

"What is this gloomy atmosphere for?" Djaq criticized. "We are well supplied. What can a little cold do to us?" Her spirits were still warm from her success in town.

"Obviously, you lack knowledge of winter in England," Much corrected her, "being from the Holy Land and all."

Robin stirred from his drawing to make eye contact with the disputers. "Point being: We'll need a warmer place for the winter," he acknowledged the pertinent subject, while heading off the brewing argument.

"Not in that cave," Much adamantly stated. "I have no desire to stay in that dark, damp, creepy hole in the ground, with tons of rock overhead, waiting to fall on you."

"What's wrong with the cave," Alan countered his gripe. "I thought you were good with it."

"Well, I changed my mind. I just don't like caves." Much established his position.

Robin's steady voice once again mediated their conversation, "The cave _was_ a good idea, but the sheriff knows where that is now. It's no longer an option."

"Good." Much nodded contentedly.

"I've spent many winters in the woods," John pitched in. "A hollowed-out tree or warm barn was all I needed. But then, I wasn't looking for five people."

Djaq studied the men's faces, including a quiet Robin's. "You are all so gloomy, prophets of doom," she piqued, mildly disgusted with the lot.

Robin let out a light-hearted laugh, surprising her and lifting the foreboding mood hanging over them. "Djaq's right, we need to look at our situation constructively. I agree that we need shelter, so let's start thinking on the subject." He shifted his attention towards Alan and Djaq. "Meanwhile, do you have any news from town?"

"Ahem, news," Alan cleared his throat and began, "Speaking of profits, here's what was left over once the 'Hood Tax' was taken out of it. Which, of course, we'll be seeing later, I suppose." He produced a leather pouch from under his cloak and tossed it to Robin.

Robin caught the pouch in the hand he did not hold the twig in and frowned.

"Well, that made absolutely no sense. What's a 'Hood Tax'?" Much voiced what everyone looked to be thinking.

Alan tried to explain. "Well, it's um, a tax that people have to pay so we can take our part of it."

"What?!" Much wailed. "Are you sure you know what you're talking about? Maybe you didn't hear them right."

"No. I'm sure I heard right," Alan shot back. With his eyes wide and his hands animated, he continued, "They was there right in front of me – the guards – and they were taking the man's coins. That is, before I collected the rest of it from him," he adjusted his final statement with a smirk and pointed to the bag of money in Robin's hand.

"You're making this up. And I don't find it one bit amusing." Much fidgeted uneasily, repositioning himself away from Alan.

"I'm not making this up," Alan defended. "Look at my nose; it's not a bit longer."

"Your nose?!" Much exclaimed, even more confused. "You're a daft man and a compulsive liar," he accused.

Robin leaned back and rolled his head, tolerating the arguing men, but did not say a word.

Little John saw Robin's annoyance and intervened. "Will the two of you stop," his booming voice ended their quip. "You bicker like children."

"Worse," Will affirmed.

Robin tossed the twig from his hand into the fire and finally spoke up. "Before the rest of you go at each other's necks, I'd like to assure you that I've not made any agreement with the sheriff to collect a 'Hood Tax.' Second, I will visit someone who can tell me for certain what this is about," he informed with a hint of a plan on his face.

"Great. I knew that. And good idea," Much wholeheartedly supported his master with multiple affirmations and nods before giving him a clueless look. "Who would that be?"

Robin's mischievous grin, as he quit his seat by the fire, was the only answer Much and the others got.


	3. Chapter 3

**An Object Lesson**

By JeanTre16

Chapter Three

**Un-laden Swallow**

It was still early in Nottingham Town and the merchants were at full hilt for the day. Copper kettles, cabbages and the like all sat neatly displayed for sale. While money exchanged hands, a small crowd was spared from the bartering for an announcement to be made in the castle courtyard. Milling among these idle gossipers were two hooded individuals. The taller of the duo stopped to lend an ear to two women engaged in conversation.

"They say the sheriff's a promise to make," the first woman speculated to her companion.

"Not more taxes, I hope," the other responded, sounding worn out and worried.

"Are you looking for Marian?" the unmistakable voice of Much interrupted the cloaked man from his listening. "I doubt she'd be here at the castle after escaping the clutches of Gisborne," he spewed his unasked for opinion.

"No. I'm not looking for Marian," was the short reply over the taller man's shoulder. As if drawn by a curiosity, his focus moved away from the women and meandered closer to the rise of steps leading to the castle.

The shorter man followed. "When I heard you say you were going to talk with someone who knew – "

"Much!" Robin turned and lifted his hood just enough to reveal his face to the man behind him. "I would appreciate it if you would keep your eyes and ears open instead of drilling me on the whereabouts of Marian." Robin chewed his lip as if holding back his irritation. "Besides, I never said I was going to see her."

"But you said we were going to see someone who could tell us what this _Hood Tax_ was all about," his friend pressed for an explanation.

Robin had no time to answer. The unmistakable voice of Guy boomed throughout the courtyard, warranting everyone's attention. "The Sheriff of Nottingham," he heralded the man in question as if on cue to Much's interrogation.

The corners of Robin's mouth curved upward as he raised a brow at his friend. "Satisfied you have your answer?"

"Oh," Much replied, grasping that the sheriff, and not Marian, was the object of their visit. He crossed his arms, slightly disgruntled. "Well, I don't see why you feel the need to keep these things a secret from me all the time," he mumbled his complaint and took his place at his former master's side.

Robin's amused grin faded as the emerging, nearly bald-headed man claimed his full study.

"Loyal subjects of Nottingham," Vaizey roared with outstretched arms and a pompous smile just as wide. "Today I bring you good news – " He left his words hanging long enough to permit the excited murmurs of the crowd to die down " – and some bad news," he finished and dropped his hands on the regretful note. "Which would you like to hear first, huh?" he taunted, ignoring the moans.

Much leaned nearer to Robin and whispered, "I think he's enjoying this a little too much for me to believe he has anything good to say."

Robin heard, but did not respond. He kept his scrutinizing gaze on the sheriff.

When no one responded with a choice, the sheriff clapped his hands and energetically filled in the silence. "Bad news. All right, the bad news is that our noble King's tax money has suffered at the hands of thieves."

Once again the people groaned.

Vaizey raised his hands to silence them. "I know, I know. You've all been heavy laden with the additional collection of funds to cover both His Majesty's requests _and _the loss incurred by Robin Hood, who insists on taking your hard earned money. Rest assured, those who pilfer the King's funds will not go unpunished." His last words ended bitterly.

Much scoffed, "Pilfering. He speaks of himself."

"But the people think it's us," Robin corrected, still keeping his attention towards the figure at the top of the stairs.

"Despicable man," Much sneered, snubbing his nose.

The sheriff continued, "And now for the _good_ news. In keeping with my compassionate spirit for all you hardworking people, I acknowledge your grief with Hood. I feel your anger. The goodness of my heart desires to compensate you from my own resources. Therefore, I, Sheriff of Nottingham, invite you all to a free supper on me. Tomorrow, here in the courtyard, the castle kitchens will serve you from my personal bounty."

To that, the people responded in delight.

"His bounty?!" Much exclaimed doubtfully. "I can't believe that."

"No, but the people do," Robin noted, watching the happy faces flock about the sheriff as he descended the steps to take an unprecedented walk in the streets. He shook his head and swallowed hard. Then, without pronouncement, he took off down an alternate street as the crowd followed the sheriff.

"Hey, where are you going?" Much asked. "The sheriff's going – " he stopped his complaint mid-sentence, mouth agape, realizing that he stood alone " – that way," he finished to himself, pointing opposite of the direction that Robin took. Adjusting his hood snugly over his head, he dropped his altercation and scurried to keep up.

ooOOoo

Sheriff Vaizey paraded through the streets of Nottingham Town in the company of Sir Guy and an intimidating squad of guards. "My intent, Gisborne," he conversed as they walked, "is to gain the people's admiration and trust." The man of note diverted his attention to some wary cart merchants, acknowledging them with a flamboyant smile and waving gesture.

The people returned his smile weakly and quickly returned to their business of selling, or at least the appearance of it.

Guy followed at the sheriff's side, taking note of the hushed crowds that grew lifeless at the sight of them. Not pleased with what he saw, his face betrayed a less than optimistic opinion. "And how will you do that?" he asked.

"Watch and learn," the sheriff spoke in Gisborne's direction. With a quick bob on the balls of his feet, he took off as if on a mission. He walked over to a small boy and stopped to pat him on the head. Like a wolf in sheep's clothing, he addressed the lad's alarmed mother, "You have nothing to fear, my good woman. I'm sure you pay your taxes, keep out of trouble and raise your loyal … brood." He settled on his last word with the downturn of his eyes to the scrawny subject under his hand. The patronizing sheriff lifted his hand uncomfortably from the waif's head and wiped the imagined vileness off into his cloak.

"Yes, well, all of you," he blared, redirecting his attention to everyone within earshot. Donning his fictitious grin again, he coated his speech with sugary theatrics. "Be sure to come to the castle tomorrow for a free meal on the Good Sheriff of Nottingham. And please, bring your little ones," he said, gesturing once more to the child.

ooOOoo

Robin and Much crouched in a darkened shop corner – one of the few places in Nottingham presently unencumbered by human beings. After the sheriff's departure for a tour of the town, the two had sneaked through the back streets and into a vacant vegetable storehouse. And there they sat, at Robin's insistence that he had a plan. The only problem was that Much had no clue what that plan was, and he was growing impatient.

"All this waiting around, doing nothing. There must be something we could do, rather than sit here among these smelly, rotten vegetables," Much complained, scrunching his nose and eyeing their surroundings.

Keeping his senses aloof for possible discovery, Robin remained unmoved by his anxious companion. "All right," Robin said, pursing his lips contemplatively, "something to do." His brow went up with inspiration. "Tell me: What is the air speed of an un-laden Swallow?"

Much frowned. "Swallow? You mean as in a bird?"

"A bird," Robin confirmed flatly.

"Well, let me see … un-laden?" he asked, beginning to turn the problem over in his head.

"Unladen," Robin echoed his confirmation.

The pondering man scratched his head and sighed sharply in defeat. "I'm sorry, master, but, what does a Swallow even remotely have to do with the here and now?"

Robin grinned at his by now completely lost companion. "My point," he began and stifled a snicker. "If speed were needed, a Swift would be swifter," he finished, placing a firm hand on the puzzled man's shoulder.

Still mixed up on what the whole exercise meant, Much tried to make sense of it. "Ah, so what you're saying is that we're not in a rush."

Robin bent over and put a hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter.

Seeing that he had been the brunt of another of Robin's jokes, Much defended himself smugly, "That's not funny." In afterthought, his eyes shifted momentarily. "But I still don't get the whole thing about the bird."

"Shh – " Robin's amusement faded as he peeked around the corner " – someone's here."

Unable to tell who it was in the darkened room, Robin motioned for his friend to go around to the front of the storehouse while he took the back. The tall man held his bow forward and reached for an arrow. Slipping it into his bow, he pulled back firmly on the string …

"Robin!" a startled woman's voice broke the silence.

"Marian!" Robin exclaimed tensely, quickly releasing the tension in his bowstring.

"You frightened me," she said with her hand to her chest.

"Me, frighten you? You could have gotten hurt. What are you doing here?" he argued.

A reserved look swept over her face. "Aren't you happy to see me?" she answered smugly with another question.

Robin's countenance lightened. "Of course, I'm happy to see you," he answered, her antics working to raise a smile from him. "It's just that you're much safer at home, instead a sneaking around in vegetable storehouses." He stepped forward with a sparkle in his eyes and cupped the back of her head with his palm.

She grasped his arm with her hand and ran her fingers along the length of it. "Home. Sitting around doing nothing, while the whole of Nottingham starves under the sheriff's taxes," she answered bitterly.

"Surely your father isn't aware of your ventures," he changed the subject.

"My father would have me sit at home until he was sure I would waste away before permitting me to venture out again," she exasperated.

"He almost lost you," Robin reminded her of her near-death experience.

The memory served to soften her stubbornness and she drew closer to Robin's embrace. "True, but I will not let that keep me from what my heart tells me I should do."

"And what does your heart say?" he asked, smiling and welcoming her into his arms.

"It says it wants to help," she answered softly, her eyes looking up to meet his.

"Ahem," Much cleared his throat, interrupting Marian and Robin, causing them to break apart from one another's affectionate hold. "Uh, I hate to break you two love birds up, but, the sheriff's coming this way," he informed, motioning towards the front of the storehouse.

ooOOoo

Leaving the tot and his parent behind, the sheriff continued his procession through the streets, wooing the people with his offer of a free lunch. Pleased with his success, he boasted, "You see, Gisborne, they love me."

While talking, the man of the day led his group of dark-clad men around the corner of a tightly packed side street. What was a bearable following suddenly verged on an unmanageable throng. People were pressing in on the villainous-turned-valiant town's leader, all with happy faces and outstretched arms.

_God bless you_ and _long live our sheriff,_ was being hailed from his peasant fans.

"Perhaps we should head back to the castle," the master-of-arms suggested, pressing back a number of beggars with outstretched palms.

The sheriff looked to be considering the idea when an offer was made from a shop window. "Would ya be interested in buyin' some cabbages for that feast of yours?" a woman's voice rose over the crowd.

"The sheriff would not be – " Gisborne barked back harshly, on the defense.

"La-di-da-di-da. The sheriff _would_ be," his superior overruled him mockingly. "Anything to get out of this mob," he said under his breath. Before Guy could offer complaint, the sheriff raised his palm to dispel his master-of-arms. "Gisborne, you need to learn patience – " the corners of his mouth flitted upward. " – how to turn events in our favor." With his hand still upward, he pointed at the crowd, "You get this under control while I appease this jolly cabbage woman." He ended his speech with the redirection of his finger towards the sanctuary of the shop, signaling where he was headed.

"Do you think it's a good idea for you to go unattended?" Gisborne protested.

"When I need you to dote over me, I'll send for you," Vaizey snapped his answer as he squirmed by his men and left the bustle of the street.

Gisborne stiffened, but held himself and the people at bay. All he could do was adhere to his boss's order.

Inside the darkened cabbage shop, the sheriff straightened his robe and brushed it off. "Ah, much better," he aired his relief. He picked up a cabbage and toyingly looked it over. "How many of these will I need to feed a town?" he asked smartly.

There was no answer.

Looking for the woman, he moved further into the structure, squinting to allow his eyes to adjust to the dimness. "Cabbage woman?" he asked again. Distracted by a pile of freshly peeled onions, he snatched one up and bit into it. Crunching down into the bulb, the sharp aroma immediately made him choke and his eyes tear. His face distorted and he quickly returned the half-eaten onion back to the stack.

Hearing a low, familiar laugh, he abruptly looked up to see that there was no woman with him in the shop. Instead, through watery eyes, he saw a tall man in brown with a bow leaning against the back doorframe with a smirk on his face. "Robin Hood," the sheriff gasped. "Why does it not surprise me to find you here with these … vegetables?" he gagged and turned for the door.

A smug looking Much barred the sheriff's exit with his arms crossed, unwilling to budge.

A gagging Vaizey turned to face Robin again. "What do you want, Hood?" he snarled, still trying to overcome the effect of the onion.

"Want? Now that's an interesting word considering you're the one doing the shopping." Robin's grin grew wider, thinking the whole scene rather funny.

"Well, I'm done now," the sheriff answered and tried to leave again.

Much held his ground and Robin continued to snicker.

Sputtering, the sheriff faced Robin and choked out, "Go ahead, laugh. We'll see who gets the last laugh this time." Vaizey wiped his mouth in his sleeve and informed in an even tone, "You have one minute to state what you want before I call for the guard."

"One minute," Robin smiled and looked down briefly to condense his thoughts. Lifting his head again he spoke quietly and quickly, "I'd like to ask you what this tax is that you're asking the people to pay."

"You should know. You're the one taking a percentage of it," Vaizey sneered.

"That's not funny."

"No, it isn't." The sheriff's humor drew flat.

"Is the fact that your last collection was a bit short, have something to do with this?" Robin asked more directly.

"This marriage of ours is getting old, Hood," the sheriff chided. "Call it alimony." He continued, "Every breech of endearment has its price, Hood. I will turn the people away from you by making them hurt. Then, by giving them relief in the name of the loving Sheriff of Nottingham, they will find their loyalties undivided. I'm doing them a favor, really."

Robin's head tilted to the side as he speculated. "So you plan to help the people take sides, by making them not like me."

"Robin, you and I both know that you must have the people _love_ you, not _like_ you. I will see to it that they love me instead. Listen to them outside. I'm stealing your loving supporters," he smirked.

An interlude in conversation confirmed the sheriff's threat. Indeed, the people outside in the streets sounded to be rallying to the sheriff's side.

"I'm sorry, Robin, but you must decrease now, before you become too much of a legend in the people's _loving_ hearts." He dramatically clutched his hand to his chest and looked at Robin with longing puppy-dog eyes.

"I've already made an impact on the people," Robin rebuffed.

"Have you?" The sheriff dropped his mockery. "Let's do a re-cap, shall we? You've taught them that you shirk responsibilities – leaving your poor estate to be run by others was a dire mistake. And you've taught them that the silly noble's war you ran off to fight cost _money_!" he made the emphasis coldly.

With each mention, Robin rolled his eyes.

"Have I missed anything? Oh, oh, yes. And you've taught them not to mess with another man's fiancée. That delicious part is fluff, but the romantics will find it irresistibly juicy," he taunted.

His animation dropped and he looked at Robin, who stared back at him, un-amused. "The point is, _Robin_, that I will make sure all your sacrifices come to nothing. _Nothing_! Are you listening? Your loyal followers will be used to strengthen my position – an object lesson." The sheriff reflectively taunted in a sing-song rhyme, "Object lesson: lessen the object and the objection lessens." He laughed at his clever play on words and stiffened his resolve. "Good-bye, Robin Hood. You should be happy to know that you've died in the service of your King."

"Are you threatening me?" Robin became sour.

"Oh, I am sorry, your minute is up," Vaizey rasped. He pushed Much out of his way and yelled out the door, "Guards!"

Robin clicked his tongue and bound out the back of the building with his fellow outlaw. Escaping down a tight run between buildings, he captured a glimpse of Marian on an adjacent street. He paused to smile and blow her a kiss.

Her face lit up at his gesture. But as she watched him turn and scale a wall, she quickly forced her feelings under check. Pulling her hood over her head, she too disappeared among the busy merchants' carts.

----------

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in posting. Hopefully, the fact that chapter 3 is twice as long as the previous chapters may please you. Also, do you know the "correct" answer to the question Robin posed to Much? Enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

**An Object Lesson**

By JeanTre16

Chapter 4

For Better or Worse

Noonday was fast approaching when Marian returned by horseback to Knighton Hall. Her jaunt to town had been fruitful. In her arms she cradled a carefully wrapped parcel from the market; in her thoughts, however, she concealed an acquisition of a different nature. She now knew what the sheriff was up to in imposing his new Hood Tax on the nobility, while showering the commoners with generosity. Marian rode up to the stables and smiled. As an unexpected bonus to her trip, she had run into the tax's namesake himself — she had seen Robin.

With the events of town replaying in her mind, the noble's daughter guided her chestnut into the structure. Repositioning the bundle in her arms, she dismounted and gave the reins over to a stable hand. The exercise-flushed woman paused for a moment to draw in a deep breath and turn her thoughts from town to her father. Refocused, she hastily made her way to the house.

Inside the main hall, Edward sat in his chair by the fire, worried. When the door opened to reveal his daughter, visible relief swept over him before his questioning began. "Where have you been?"

Marian paused mid-step and answered in brief, "To town."

"So early?"

She laughed lightly and resumed her path to the dining table. "It's not early. It's near noon," she pacified his criticism.

"But it wasn't when you slipped out," he corrected.

"Slipped out," she echoed, stopping to gape at her father. "You act as if I'd been up to something unlawful."

"Have you?"

Marian sighed and calmly placed her parcel on the table. Peeling back the folds of cloth, she revealed a bounty of vegetables. "One must get to town early if they want to find the best offerings," she answered sweetly, in half truth.

Her father rose from his chair, regarding her with suspicion. Then, dropping his aloofness, he apologized. "I'm sorry for so many questions. It's just that I worry after you. Since Sheriff Vaizey's fictitious return of King Richard, I fear what he may do." The former sheriff took a turn in his conversation. "I cannot tell you how I've come to regret my actions at the castle."

No longer on the defense, Marian's calmness waned. She left the table and neared her father. "You did what was right," she defended. "Had King Richard truly returned, you would be sitting in your rightful seat as sheriff instead of Lord Vaizey."

"And you would be married to Sir Guy," Edward matched her reasoning, sorely reminding his daughter where his choices had nearly taken her.

Marian's looked away, her features tinged with pain. "Perhaps," she said quietly. "That is one fate I do not regret being different."

"Robin – " he began affectedly, perceiving her heart.

"Robin doesn't matter," she snapped, heading off the subject. Then, in sweeter tones, she checked herself, "In better times, perhaps things would be different. Robin would not have gone to war, the King would be here, and you would be sheriff. But these are not better times."

"We all make sacrifices," he agreed, the burden of age wearing heavily on his countenance. He tenderly approached his only child. "My dear, you try to hide your disappointments, but I am your father. Do not think they go unnoticed."

Marian smiled weakly, trying to push her feelings aside. "A noble's daughter has a larger burden to bear than that of her own comfort," she whispered. "I know my calling and I'm not afraid of it."

Edward studied her and was about to speak, but was diverted by the sound of pounding hooves outside. His daughter's eyes met his in concern. He nodded, indicating for them to brace themselves for whatever horror their visitors brought. Grimfaced, the noble moved forward and opened the door.

Marian peeked over her father's shoulder. When she saw that it was a group of the sheriff's men, she grabbed her cape and pressed past her father. Swirling her wrap about her shoulders, she hurried over to the head guard dismounting his horse. "What's the meaning of this?" she demanded.

"Gisborne's orders," the helmeted man answered, preoccupied with directing the others. "Take positions about the house," he barked at them.

Marian and her father watched in disbelief as their house was surrounded.

Infuriated, the caped woman turned back toward the guard in charge. "And what exactly does Sir Guy intend by this?" she demanded, skirting around him as he tied his horse to the post.

"Per the sheriff, no one is to visit or leave without his master-of-arm's approval," the guard stopped to address her through the slits in his helmet. Having spoken, he walked past her to post himself at the front door.

Edward stood in the doorway, mouth agape at what he was witnessing.

Marian glared at her father in frustration. Assessing that she would gain no help from him, she groaned and trailed the guard to the entrance. "But why?" she pressed him.

The man in the black uniform planted himself dutifully and answered, "You'll have to ask Gisborne yourself." Then as if by afterthought, he informed, "Oh, and any food not within your main house will be taken to the castle for the sheriff's feast tomorrow."

"That would mean that our servants would go hungry," Marian gasped. She hesitated in shock, and then smugness overtook her. Without a word more, she pivoted and haughtily stalked off towards the stables.

"Lady Marian," the guard called after her. "I'm afraid that includes you, when I said no one leaves."

Edward watched, fearful that his daughter's contemptuous behavior would endanger her well being.

She stopped in her tracks, checking her incited emotions. With an icy demeanor, she turned to glare at the sheriff's guardsman. "As you've suggested, I'm going to see Sir Guy. Surely, you'll permit me to go to him," she hissed, using his words against him. Tugging her wrap taut about her shoulders, she whirled around and made her way to the stables.

Edward saw the guard shift uneasily in response to her rebelliousness, but remain at his post. Dreading that his words would only worsen the matter, the former sheriff held his tongue and helplessly watched Marian go.

--------- 

Robin and his men approached an outlying village. Tucked in their arms and slung over their shoulders were bundles of cheese, bread and mutton. Their offerings were generous, but to their dismay, the village folk greeted their arrival with cold stares.

"What's wrong with them?" Much asked, keeping in step with his master's long strides. "They look like the sheriff himself has come for a visit."

"Maybe he has," Alan added his two bits, "been here, that is," he clarified, looking around at the others. "He seems to enjoy his romps among Nottingham's commoners of late."

"Romp," Little John scoffed at Alan's remark. "If the sheriff's been romping here, he's been on the receiving end, not the handing out."

Alan shrugged. The corners of his mouth pulled downward as if it made no difference to him why the sheriff had been here.

Robin surveyed the long-faced villagers, but proceeded to lead his men into their midst. When they reached the clearing in the center of the thatched-roofed homes, he prompted his men to set their bundles down. "Keep your eyes open," he spoke quietly to his men, confirming their concerns. Then, in a loud voice, he addressed the peasants, "This food is for your families."

No one made a sound. His only acknowledgment was a stiff nod from the man nearest to him who held a partially hewn piece of wood in his hands. His wife stood motionless at his side, along with his children. No one dared to make a peep.

Frustrated by their non-responsiveness, Robin confirmed again, "We're here to help, by bringing you relief." He looked around to note the same lack of appreciation from all of them.

The woodworker slapped the beam against his opened palm. "It isn't right … what you're doing here," he said sharply.

"What? Feeding the poor?" Much could not hold his tongue.

Robin motioned for his friend to remain silent. "What am I doing?" he asked the peasant with a great deal more patience than his associate had.

"Taking from our hard work, then giving it back to get our loyalty," he explained.

Robin bobbed his head in understanding and looked sideward. "Sheriff Vaizey," he said under his breath, one corner of his mouth quirking upward in amusement.

Much shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other at hearing the distasteful name.

"That isn't how it is?" Robin defended himself to the peasant.

"Isn't it?" the man accused.

"Then what do you propose we do with this?" Robin gestured to the sacks of food.

Alan looked at Robin. "If they don't want it – "

"We'll keep it," the man's wife interrupted quickly, eyeing her husband for approval.

"Fine, suit yourself," Alan said.

Her husband nodded once in agreement. "Only because we would starve without it," he consented. "If you'd really like to help, don't take it away from us in the first place," he added.

Robin raised his voice to address all the villagers, "I have not and would never take from you. These are redistributions from those who have plenty." Still receiving nothing but cold glares, he asked, "Do you see me and my men living in warm, cozy homes while your families go wanting?" He gestured at his men standing with him.

The peasant's reply was not encouraging. "We don't pretend to understand the games that lords play. But giving back to the poor what you've taken in the first place, all for a warm and fuzzy feeling … may God be your judge."

"Very well," Robin resigned. He motioned for his men to leave the food. Without prodding them more, he honored the villager's wishes and left.

A short distance down the road, Much could no longer contain himself. "You should have told her," he argued.

"Told her what?" Robin returned, "That she's right?"

Much scoffed. "You don't believe that!"

"Robin," Djaq joined in, "he's right. The sheriff is trying to manipulate them by making you the scapegoat."

"You're not the man they were making you out to be. You're a good man and we'll find a way to prove that," Will confirmed Djaq's sentiment.

Little John listened, wagging his head back and forth, but had nothing constructive to add to the conversation.

A till then, unusually quiet Alan spoke up, "I say we forget about the poor if they don't care about us anymore. Let the sheriff take care of them; he seems to want the job. We should take the spoils and make a comfortable living for ourselves somewhere else."

Robin stopped suddenly in his tracks. "For everyone's information," he said, rolling his eyes skyward, "we are not in this for personal gain." He turned to look first at Alan and then the others. "For better or worse, we're here for England." His discourse was followed up with a familiar twinkle in his eyes. "Now, I have a plan. So stop your whining and put your heads together on how we can add a little spice to the sheriff's free lunch tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

**An Object Lesson**

By JeanTre16

Chapter Five

**In-Law or Outlaw?**

A pair of eyes peered through the thicket surrounding Knighton Hall – insightful, calculating eyes. They rested on the sight of an inviting window, opened on the second floor above the entry. They held there for a moment, and then shifted to a yawning guard lazily pacing in front of the structure.

Moments later, a pebble arched its way over the hedge from the spy's position, landing several meters aft of the bored guard. When the sheriff's man abandoned his route to investigate the noise, the prowler stealthily crept from his hiding place and covered the distance of the yard. Leaping with practiced ease to a bar in front of the desired window, he mounted a ledge under the eaves and crouched silently.

The guard scanned the abutting forest opposite of the diversion's source. Satisfied that the sound was nothing to concern himself with, he turned to make another pass by the front door.

Overhead, the camouflaged figure froze like a bat against the wooden building and waited for the henchman to pass out of sight. Once the guard rounded the corner, the intruder released his breath and scrambled into Marian's window.

From inside of the structure, he closed the shutter and looked about the room. No one was there. "Psst, Marian," he whispered. But there was no answer. His eyes shifted in the direction of the adjacent changing room, where the door was half shut. His brow lifted in curiosity. Careful not to make a sound, he walked towards the opening and reached for the handle. In nervous anticipation of who he might see on the other side, he slowly pushed the panel open.

The first thing he saw was not the fair sight of Marian, but rather the sharp edge of an axe blade. Reflexively, the trained Crusader reached to load his bowstring. But as the door swung further, the wielder was revealed to be Marian's terror-filled father, who gripped the axe handle in his white-fisted hands.

"Robin! Good Lord," Edward gasped, lowering the axe, "you'll get yourself killed sneaking around in peoples homes like this."

Robin released his hand from the arrow on his back, along with a sharp spurt of air from his lungs. "Me?! I could have hurt you, not knowing you were behind that door," he exasperated. "You and Marian have to stop doing that," he added under his breath, remembering the close call with her in the vegetable storehouse earlier that day.

Marian's father ignored Robin's rant and with the axe in one fist, he shook the other one angrily. "You should not be here," he scolded.

"Where's Marian?" Robin asked, getting to the point of his visit.

"She's gone to see Gisborne," Edward spewed the unpleasant answer.

"Gisborne?" Robin's voice raised an octave in disbelief.

Deep lines of worry creased Edward's face. "She does not listen to me," he said gravely, and walked off to return the axe to the adjoining room.

Robin glanced towards the window, scoffing lightly at the thought of Marian seeing Guy.

"I fear for her safety," Edward continued as he returned. "But worse, I fear my time to protect her has passed." He looked at Robin with a sense of urgency. "There is something that I must speak with you about."

Robin's curiosity rose. "I'm listening," he answered, preparing himself for whatever Edward would have to say about caring for Marian.

"Tonight in the barn —" Edward began.

"Tonight?" Robin countered in sheer surprise. "So soon?"

"Soon? What do you mean by soon?" the older man sounded puzzled and momentarily lost his focus.

"Well … I …" Robin stumbled, and then gave up his excuse altogether, not wanting to sound ungrateful for the former Sheriff's entrusting of his daughter to him. He faced Marian's father. "Tonight then," he agreed, wondering what Marian would have to say of her father's secretive plans for them.

Edward balked at the strange response, but returned to his impassioned request. "Tonight, in the barn of Earl of Lonsdale, the nobles are meeting," he revealed in a hoarse whisper.

"Nobles?" Robin questioned, his features scrunching at the unexpected turn in their conversation, also feeling a slight release from the queasiness that the sudden thought of marriage had brought on.

Edward neared Robin, his eyes emblazed. "Those that are loyal to King Richard," he answered, looking around as if the walls had ears. "They've taken a blow from the sheriff's scheme, trying to smoke them out with the King's false return. They need encouragement. I was to be among them, but instead Vaizey watches me like a hawk," he spat, looking away regretfully. His eyes widened again and returned to the young noble. "But you … you have the ability to come and go without being seen," he added anxiously.

Robin's brows remained knit, clearly showing that he expected the request to be of a different nature. "What are you asking of me?" he queried.

"Robin, I want you to go in my place," Edward insisted, stepping forward to grab Robin's hand tightly in his fist as though entrusting him with a favor.

"Me? What could I possibly have to say in your stead? And would they even listen to me?"

Edward's eyes met Robin's in desperation. "You are young and a natural leader. You can organize them and finish the work that I've begun," he answered, releasing Robin from his grip.

--------- 

Marian approached Locksley Manor by horseback. She slowed her mount to a walk and watched the hollow eyes of the peasants leave their work to stare at her. She rode by them in silence. They would have been under her charge, had she not fled from her wedding. Did they feel that she had abandoned them? Since Robin could no longer be lord over his estate, she could have at least had the power to watch over them had she … no, she would not think of it. There was nothing she could do to turn the time back, nor did she want to. It was done. She would do what she could for them now, but first, she had a relationship to mend.

Sir Guy of Gisborne was busy about his duties in the stables when Marian approached. He looked neither angry nor glad to see her, but her presence did affect him. "It is bold of you to come here," he addressed her with warning.

"Sir Guy," Marian's sweetened voice sidestepped his foreboding concern. She accepted his servant's assistance from her saddle and got to the point of her visit, "I've come to speak of the sheriff's tax and — "

"Hood's Tax," Guy corrected, holding a black-gloved finger to caution her. His eyes took in her appearance, and then he looked away and repeated, "You should not be here."

"And where should I be?" she asked, piqued. "Caged, like one of the sheriff's birds? His guards surround our home."

His gaze looked sharply in her direction.

Marian's eyes fell to the earth and she softened her approach. "I apologize. I am a bit riled at the deeds of our good sheriff of late, and their effect on certain others, as you know all too well." Her eyes shifted to rest on his.

Catching drift of her meaning, that she spoke of his own guile towards her, Guy lifted his hand to his cheek where the brunt of her ringed-fist had left a bruise. Without speaking it, he reminded her that she too was not innocent of offense.

Marian's eyes shied from his. "You must not hold my actions against the people of Locksley," she pled. Not knowing how much longer he might tolerate her presence, she wasted no time and got to the heart of her visit. Looking him full on, she petitioned, "Good men and women serve you and all of England. What I do ask is that you see to it that they are cared for."

"It is a peasant's duty to provide his master with whatsoever he requires," Guy instructed. His brow shifted upward as though he lectured her.

"And it is the master's duty to see to the needs of those entrusted to him," she instructed back. Brightening her air, she forced a smile and braved to step nearer to Guy. "You have the sheriff's ear; you can sway him to relieve the people," she appealed.

Guy, carefully watching her every movement, laughed dismissively. "Haven't you heard? The sheriff throws a feast tomorrow for the commoners. Is that not relief enough?"

"And from where does he secure his bounty?" she corrected sourly.

Guy's humor dissipated as well. "That's none of your concern," he hissed.

"Is it not?" she pursued. "He takes from Knighton Hall. How many other estates does he …" she dropped her argument short of regret and turned the corners of her lips upward instead. "Sorry," she offered instead.

Gisborne took note of her change and ventured a shift in conversation. "Marian, I too owe you an apology …" Guy's toughened façade dropped to show a vulnerability that Marian often brought over him. "In regards to our wedding, understand that I meant no harm in withholding the sheriff's plan from you. I only desired to protect you … and your father." He stepped closer as though approaching an untamed bird, not wanting to scare her off. "But do not forget that I am under obligation to the sheriff as well. He had to know who his loyal followers were." Guy came near enough to be stirred by her closeness and affectedly trembled. "Can I ask you, Marian, does your father know where his loyalties lie?"

"His loyalties … lie on the side of the law, of course," she answered in a patronizing tone, uncomfortable with his proximity.

"Of course," he echoed, stepping back to study her. "Marian," he faltered, looking down to the earth. He returned his dark eyes to hers, and propositioned, "I believe we can still reconcile our differences. I would like you to reconsider our marriage."

Marian backed off, slightly paled. A perplexed frown crossed her softened features. "Marriage? Sir, Guy, when I gave you your ring back, I did so under no pretense," she exasperated.

"Think about it," he overrode her quandary, seemingly relieved that he had articulated his desire. He took her hand and caressed the place where his multi-colored ring would have rested. Folding her arm in his, he accompanied her to her horse. "You'd best get back to Knighton Hall. I will vouch for your visit here today," he assured, before she remounted her chestnut and departed.

--------- 

Leaving Locksley, Marian rode slowly through Sherwood Forest. The clops of her horse's hooves beat steady, but leisurely on the path. She looked half-expectantly into the billowy shadows, but rode on. She knew more than trees and wildlife resided there. Her senses attuned, she readjusted her cape. A chill was on the air, but she refused to hurry. She favored the cold of these woods to the captivity that awaited her at Knighton Hall.

The horse beneath her snorted, as if in agreement with her meditation.

Still half-entranced in her brood, she smiled. "I know what you mean," she spoke to the animal, and patted him on the mane. "I have no desire to see the sheriff's men either."

"Enjoy your time with Gisborne?" Robin's sarcastic voice suddenly called from somewhere in the trees.

Marian's jaw dropped in a start. Reflexively, she pulled her horse's reins back and toward the voice. The chestnut beneath her pranced spiritedly in a tightened circle and stopped only when she released the pressure on his bit. "Do you enjoy startling women traveling alone through these woods?" she tossed the question in annoyance, still trying to calm her mount.

Robin smiled his boyish grin, reclining casually against a tree. Uncrossing his arms, he stepped down the embankment towards the flustered traveler and her horse. "Only the ones that become beautiful when they're worked up," he teased, walking over to assist her.

Marian's horse stood still at last and Robin took the reins. He extended his hand upward towards her, offering her help down.

She swung her leg around, and ignoring his hand, jumped off, nearly landing in his arms. For a moment, they stood there in tight quarters with one another — Robin smiling playfully and Marian warming to his presence. Becoming one in thought, she accepted his embrace as he leaned forward to kiss her lightly on the lips.

A tender moment of affection passed before Marian pulled back in a more relaxed mood. "For your information," she defended, in response to his earlier statement, "Gisborne isn't as angry with me as I had feared. The corners of her mouth played slightly upward and she placed her palms on his chest.

"What? Running out on his wedding plans wasn't enough to warrant his wrath?" Robin teased. "And I do hope the welt you left on his jaw was still there," he mocked.

"That's not funny," she said, less affected by his charm. "I do not do this for my own benefit."

"How could being with Gisborne be a benefit?" he gagged.

"By keeping a … friendship with him," she struggled with the words, "we enjoy information from the sheriff."

Robin noted her falter. He eyed her, trying to assess where her statement was coming from – her heart or her will. "He's put your under house arrest," he levied.

"I'm aware of that. And the sheriff did, not Sir Guy," she corrected. "Furthermore, Sir Guy did not reject speaking to me when I came," she added.

"Well, that's a relief," he said sarcastically, tossing his head to the side. Robin sobered and faced her to place his hands on her arms. He looked straight into her eyes and warned, "Marian, Gisborne is dangerous. Do not play games with him."

"Play games! You act as though I enjoy this."

"Do you?"

Marian scoffed and pulled away from him.

He closed his eyes and released a sharp sigh. "Look, I apologize," he said, opening his eyes again, he approached her. "I should not have said that. It's just that … I cannot bear to lose you again."

His confession melted her defiance and her eyes sought his. "I have no desire to be lost again either," she reciprocated.

Robin smiled weakly, still deeply concerned. "Just be careful," he added, placing an arm around her and caressing her cheek.

Glad her trip to see Guy had been fruitful, she decided to keep the unpleasant side of it to herself for the time being. As repulsive as his endless pursuit of her was, it did have its benefits. Her thoughts returned to the sight of Robin before her and the corners of her lips moved upward in a delicate smile. She did not refuse his kiss.

--------- 

Hushed murmurs filled one of the barns on the outskirts of Nottingham. A group of well-dressed men gathered in secret to discuss the state of their resistance and the future of their country. However, their communications were not going well.

"Where's Edward?" a heavyset man asked impatiently.

"Edward will not be joining us," another voice spoke from the barn entry as a tall man and his friend entered.

"Robin of Locksley?" the first man questioned, rather than announced the new arrival's attendance. "What is that you say about Edward? Why will he not be joining us?"

"Lord Edward is being held under house arrest," Robin informed, his eyes scanning the nobles. "And I'm sure you all know Lord Much," he introduced his friend who the sheriff had given the title of lord to in recent months.

"Hello," Much said, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.

"Pshew," the round man returned. "We waste our time then, here tonight. Let us adjourn our meeting and go to our manors," he suggested, unimpressed with the show of Edward's replacements.

Much pulled his head back, offended. He looked at Robin, who merely stood there patiently ignoring the insults.

"But what of our business of Prince John?" a short balding man spoke up.

"As far as I'm concerned, Prince John has Nottingham in his iron grip," the round man tossed back.

"Then why are we here? Why do we continue meeting like this? Are we not England's last defense for the King?" another argued.

A few concurring grunts came from among them, but most stood in silence with long faces.

The round man took charge, walking about the animal enclosure. "And Edward sends us an outlaw to speak for him … a man who joins ranks with the sheriff by his Hood Tax."

Robin rolled his eyes at the accusation. "You know very well that tax is merely another scheme of the sheriff's."

"Do we?" someone accused, causing the gathering to burst into a disarray of harsh whisperings.

Suddenly, an explosive _thwack _filled the barn, startling them all to silence. Every head spun to see an arrow sticking out of what was left of a barrel of grain. The barrel, that once stored food, now sat splintered into an uncountable number of pieces as the grain poured out upon the ground.

Robin stood with his bow in hand, soberly studying every man in the barn. "Let that be an object lesson of what will become of us if we allow ourselves to be divided," he reproved.

One of the nobles, compact in size, but impeccably groomed and stylishly dressed, walked over to the emptying barrel and picked up a piece of broken wood, mouth agape.

"We'll become splintered and useless. And the estates that once contained the wealth of England, her people, will pour their souls to the earth in waste," he delivered with feeling.

The man with the fragment in his hand spoke first, "There are many more of us who feel the injustice of Prince John, thinking he and his men are above the law. Many did not show tonight out of fear that it would be another of the sheriff's ruses. But I ask you, Robin, for the few who are here: What can we do?"

"We stay united, for one," Robin challenged them, walking to retrieve his arrow. "Remember who your enemy is. It is not the one who works your land, but it is he who usurps." He bobbed the arrow before them before returning it to his quiver.

"But how can we say no to the sheriff's taxation?" the well-dressed man asked in frustration.

Robin panned the room and grinned. "We start tomorrow by making sure that all those on our estates, and all those we do business with, attend the sheriff's feast."

Confused glances were exchanged all round.

"What do you mean to do?" the compact man asked. "How will this help?"

"I say, we overtax the tax man," he answered smartly, the twinkle of a plan playing in his eyes.

After a moment of silence, a tall, slender man with a brown knit cap spoke from the circle, "I agree to have my estate attend. And I have an appointment with the horse trader first thing in the morning. Perhaps I can persuade him to attend as well."

Robin nodded. "Good, that's three, possibly four of us, including Much and myself. My men and I plan to show up hungry," he added.

The round man stepped forward with a stern look on his face, and then placed his hands on his mid-section and reversed his frown to a smile. "I believe I like this plan," he said, patting his stomach. "Count me in."

Stifled laugher filled the barn. One by one, the nobles pitched in their whispered agreements.

--------- 

The evening was getting on. Robin and his men sat around their campfire in the woods, discussing the day's events and making plans for the feast.

"The nobles' meeting went well, I believe," Much spoke anxiously, telling the others of the agreement. He pulled a leg of hen from the skewer and took a bite.

"So what exactly was Marian's father plotting with these nobles? Don't they have enough wealth to be satisfied?" Alan asked, holding his mug out for Will to fill it with hot broth.

Djaq swatted Alan's outstretched arm, making Will delay his pouring.

"Hey!" Alan defended, moving his mug out of Djaq's reach.

D'jaq kept her reproof verbal this time. "All you think about is what people can get out of something, Alan A. Dale. Have you ever stopped to think that the word 'nobility' is called so for a reason of character?" she reproved.

"I was just saying," he defended.

"You speak too quickly, with your pocket in mind," Will added to Djaq's accusation.

"Ah, now there you go, ganging up on me too," Alan complained.

"No one's ganging up on you," Little John chided in. "Now would you all knock it off." The big man shook off his fellow outlaw's annoyance and took a long sip from his mug.

As they ate and warmed themselves around the campfire, Djaq attentively stirred a pot of her own on the side of the pit.

Much's attention was drawn towards the concoction she'd been tending to meticulously. "What is that exactly?" he asked, peering over into the boiling fluid.

"Oh, something I cooked up to help season the sheriff's kettle tomorrow," she answered, drawing a corner of her mouth up mischievously.

Robin took note of her quirky smile and recalled that she had the ledger containing the formula for black powder. "Nothing explosive, I hope?" he asked with concern.

"Only mildly," Djaq answered with a wink. Then making a concession she added, "Don't worry, Robin, it is edible … barely." Continuing to stir her brew, she picked up some porous stones that were stacked by her side and dropped them into the pot.

"Now you really have me confused," Much said, watching her. "Why are you putting those … rocks in there? I've never seen anyone cook with stones before." He shook his head, pouting.

Djaq laughed. "Why, haven't you ever heard of stone soup before, Much?" she teased.

"Hmm, can't say that I have," he said, and then leaned over to sniff the steam evaporating off the top. He pulled back sharply, making a face. "Ew, I can't say that it smells very good either," he gave his honest report.

Djaq laughed again and smelled the concoction herself. The pungent aroma made her gag, but she nodded her satisfaction after she caught her breath.

Robin grinned at the scene, seeming to have gotten her drift. "A toast," he called out, and raised his mug. "To the Sheriff's feast tomorrow —" he waited for all to lift their drinks in like manner "— May it be … a bitter memory."


End file.
